Professor Lockheart's Gift to the Fangirls
by AnagumaConscience
Summary: Draco offends a certain teacher, and he gets revenge. How will a fatherfigure Severus deal with the aftermath?
1. Chapter 1

**A**uthor's **N**ote: Wow. I'm _really_ bad at writing canon Draco (meaning a meany pants Malfoy), but fear not! Your benevolent writer has decided to give you hope (if only for fear that you'll stop reading). Draco's behavior gets _much_ better around Chapter 3, and Chapter 2 isn't long.

I already have the entire series written, so I'll be able to get chapters out as fast as my wonderful Turtle betas them, _however_ (and that's a big however), I will withhold chapters until I'm happy with the number of reviews I get. I'll also post faster if you beg. I like begging.

**D**isclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even a box. Maybe Ashley'll build me a house…

**C**hapter** O**ne

**O**

Malfoy knocked on Professor Lockheart's office door one Tuesday afternoon. "Professor," He opened the door as he called out, not waiting for a reply at all. "Professor, I need to talk to you urgently. I don't find it possible that I could have attained an E on this paper. I simply have far too much first hand experience with these curses to receive anything below an O. Professor? _Professor_; I _insist_ you listen to me. That _is_ what my father pays you for."

"Actually, Mr. Malfoy," Gildory flashed a winning smile as he tucked his wand away and turned his attention reluctantly to the doorway. "Your father pays me to _teach_ you, and _certainly_ not to allow students to barge into my private office, adoring fans as they may be."

The narcissist had been practicing a spell, quite obviously. Malfoy looked over to an unmarked training dummy in the corner with contempt. The professor was obviously not getting anywhere. "Ah…" Lockheart followed Malfoy's gaze, and conspicuously stepped in front of the dummy. "Yes, yes, boy, as you were saying, I'll see to your grade. Run off."

Malfoy smirked as he turned around and sauntered out the room. Perhaps he could perfect this art of walking in on unprepared teachers. He wasn't sure what it was, but Lockheart obviously thought that he had seen something he shouldn't have, and the grade would show as record of the bribery to keep silent. Oh yes, Malfoy worked _very hard_ for his success in grades and…well, everything else, particularly his stunning looks.

-

The following morning, Malfoy sat down to his breakfast. He liked to eat in peace, and thus surrounded himself with simpletons; they were the easiest to block out. For example, if he had sat with Zabini, the chatter might've been remotely interesting, and, Merlin forbid, _intellectual_.

No, Malfoy was perfectly content shrugging off Pansy's flirtations and Goyle's complaints. He found this time perfect, when he had nothing to think about, to practice Occlumency. The process enthralled him, but he was often only spurred on by the incentive of Legillimency. Once he mastered Occlumency, he could tackle the next step: the skill that would bring him _power_.

In the back of his mind loomed memories of his visit to Lockheart's office. He brushed the almost nervous, nagging thoughts aside, comforting himself with the thought that when his brain needed a stretch and his ears a break, he could have a chat in the Potions room with a _real_ brain.

-

On one such afternoon, not a week later, Snape inquired of Malfoy's future plans. He had nearly every career option open to him, with all of his O's, but it was obvious to both men that he would follow Lucius and become a Death Eater. Severus Snape asked anyway.

"Oh come now, Severus--"

"It's _Professor_ during the school term, Mr. Malfoy."

"What else could I possibly do but follow my father and become a--"

"Move on to your point, Mr. Malfoy."

"Honestly, I would be bored stiff of Ministry work, and beloved as it is to me, it's extremely hard to find a non-Mungo's potions job; working with those invalids would just kill me. Transfiguration is far too conventional for such worldly a man as myself, and Arithmancy doesn't pose much of a challenge."

"You have O's in Defense too."

"Oh, _honestly_, Severus. The only thing _that_ could possibly be good for is spying for--"

"Speaking of which, be _careful with that tongue_, Mr. Malfoy."

"Besides, It's not like I actually worked for those grades. What work is there to do with an incompetent like Lockheart around? _You_ should have that position, Severus." Malfoy would never let it be known that he was idiotic enough to keep the teacher's-pet card hidden away.

Snape glared, and whisked Malfoy off to his office where he sealed the door and applied a silencing charm. "What don't you understand about _watch your tongue_? You already have a reputation, Draco; you don't need any more enemies if you intend to remain at this school under Professor Dumbledore. This came for you, via my postbox, yesterday." Snape held out an envelope, unaddressed besides "Master Draco Malfoy" scrawled across the front in the most garish script, and it quite obviously already opened.

His mind had been wandering, and his eyes had been snatched away from a picture of a pretty redhead on the professor's desk as his attention was caught. Malfoy sourly disregarded the fact that Snape had opened the letter, and pulled the it out, tossing the envelope aside. He read out loud. "_This has become, regretfully, quite necessary of me. I must request that you meet me around the turn of the fourth turret on the castle grounds on this Tuesday evening in regards to what you saw one week previous, and don't worry your pretty little head. Your O is safe._" Malfoy snorted at the last sentence, sensing the bitterness intended.

"Well, I'm offended," he tossed the letter aside, in the general direction of his book bag without any care. "That was far too brusque to expect any respect from _this_ Malfoy."

"Oh, you'll respect the letter's requests all right, Draco." Snape took Malfoy roughly by the arm, and yanked him close, glaring into his eyes. "You have caused very much trouble for both me and your parents over the past year and a half, Draco. You will_ stop these antics_, and fix whatever you've done now, or I will personally take you in every night to write lines for the next five years, do you understand?" Snape enunciated the last three words particularly well, intending to get his message across. "Oh, and I'll be having a chat with the headmaster about this."

Malfoy only nodded with a glare before he gathered up his things, tucked the letter into a robe pocket, and left.

He went down to the Slytherin common room, tossed the letter into the already thriving fire, and settled down to practice his Occlumency. Since no one knew of his personal sessions he didn't have a mind to guard against, but he figured it was still worth practicing. Perhaps one day, and one day soon, once he was sure of the potions master's loyalty to the Dark Lord, he would practice with Severus. That would indeed be a challenge. Malfoy smiled with fond memories with the potions master, starting all the way back with dinners at the Manor when his father would have him over for supper.

This thought distracted Malfoy from his intentions to practice. Especially after the man's display this afternoon in the potions office, Malfoy was beginning to worry that Severus really did favor the old nutter Dumbledore. Honestly, since when does a Death Eater threaten with lines and a fink to the headmaster? It was reminiscent to Malfoy of Potter's friends' threats, particularly the mudblood. Now _there_ was a fink, if he ever saw one.

The reflection on his lecture from the Potions Professor led his mind even more astray from the Occlumency. What was he to do about Lockheart's note? It was obviously Lockheart; who else had he walked in on in the past week?

This whole thing could very well be a trap, Malfoy reasoned with himself. Snape would no doubt have an eye on him, and would say something if he just ignored the note. He would have to go, but with the assurance that Snape would be watching his back. This left the rest of this night, Monday, and until Tuesday evening for him to prepare.

"Let's see now," he murmured to himself, abandoning all attempts to clear his mind for Occlumency, "What will I need?" He drifted off into his mind and eventually, after mechanically trudging up to the dorm, into his sleep.

-

Monday came, and Malfoy found it took no effort to block out even intellectual blockheads such as Zabini. He abandoned his Occlumency and most attempts of trashing Potter's life, though he kept his "Potter's Potty Mouth Curse" plan in mind.

Instead he found most of his time was spent in the library researching defense charms, and stealing sweets from the kitchens with which he would bribe two particular lunkheads. He then spent a fair amount of time practicing the more complex disarming charms on Crabbe and Goyle, perfectly willing dummies as long as food was involved.

"Hold still," Malfoy tossed Goyle a sweet and watched disgusted as it disappeared down the gigantic 12-year-old's maw "Would you just leave that gum there? I have better things for you in this bag; you don't need gum that's been on the floor for who knows how long."

"Well hurry up and give it to me then!" Goyle trudged back to the X that Malfoy had marked on the floor. That process in itself had taken a good 30 minutes to explain. Pity Crabbe was busy copying homework; at least he had an attention span that made Malfoy's goal plausible.

Malfoy sighed and threw another spell at Goyle, sending him to the wall. "Fine," he just dropped the bag where he stood, and stalked out of the room, thoroughly defeated. Pansy he could deal with. _Death Eaters_ he could deal with. But an I.Q. below 100? It just wasn't in Malfoy's reach.

The door of the empty classroom closed as Malfoy slammed it, but not before the thunk and rustle of a body landing on candy came to meet his ears. Even more unwelcome was the sound of the same body hauling itself up and dragging it after it's idol.

"Hey! Draco!" Goyle still had the candy in had, as far as Malfoy knew, "Wait up!"

-

Before Malfoy knew it, as cliché as the thought was (oh how he cringed), it was Tuesday night. Malfoy, having every airy, purebred confidence in himself that he would be fine, just fine, finally headed out to the fourth turret, walking airily clockwise around the school.

He found his mind numb, and in the perfect state to practice his Occlumency, for which he felt bad about jettisoning. After a few minutes of walking in his stupor, he heard a voice call out to him from a few meters behind.

Hand on wand, Malfoy turned around, making sure to keep his mask of calm perfection. As soon as he recognized the figure he relaxed; it was only Pansy and her friends, quite obviously drunk.

"Oh _look_ ladies!" Pansy giggled as she swayed towards Malfoy, "It's my Drakey!" She draped herself across him, and he stumbled with her dead weight. "Don't you just _loooove_ these brisk nights, Drakey? They're soooo romantic! Kiss me!"

"I'll do anything if you would just shut up," Malfoy pushed her off him, and she fell to the ground. Her friends attempted to help her up, but also collapsed in their drunkenness.

Pansy used her friends' heads to heave her own body up, and proceeded to stomp towards Malfoy, "Well, _you_! You just think you're so-so-" she paused, just as she was prepared to give him a good bitch slap (shame, I think), and held her stomach. Malfoy's eyes widened as he realized what would come next.

"Don't you dare, you--"

She obviously dared—or was too saturated with firewhiskey to have a say—and she emptied her stomach onto his shoes. By now her friends had pulled themselves up, at the expense of each others' robes, and they each took Pansy under an arm and helped her stand.

Malfoy, quite finished examining the damage done to his shoes, looked back up to the girl, gave his worst sneer, and punched her. Pansy glared back, and prepared to say something, but it was lost as her friends, defeated, just turned her around to retreat to the dorms, their tattered and torn robes thrashing in the cool fall breeze, as brisk as Pansy had drunkenly described it.

After giving a good, whole-hearted Slytherin glare at their retreating backs, Malfoy performed a quick cleaning spell, making it quite obvious that he had made a bigger fuss than was warranted, and continued on his trek. The row hadn't occurred far from the turret, and it wasn't long before Malfoy rounded the corner.

Startled, he meekly squeaked "Hello, Professor," as his nose was greeted with a wand tip and, past that, the hand, arm, shoulder and maliciously beaming face of his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: So I profusely apologize. This hasn't been beta-ed…I'd send it to her, but she wants me to work on my Draco/Luna angst fic (coming soon!). I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Oh, and I sorta lied last chapter. I've been **planning** to wait to post until I finished…but I've found that I need reviews to keep up with it.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything except my breakfast.

**C**hapter **T**wo

**I**n** G**ood** C**ompany

That Tuesday night, a potions master honored an agreement with his employer and found himself climbing a slowly unfurling spiral staircase.

"Come in, Severus," Dumbledore called out to the man waiting in the hallway.

"Professor," Severus nodded as he took a seat. "You know, it gets more and more disturbing to me every time you do that."

"Do what?" Dumbledore's eye twinkled. (There's a Visene for that) "Besides, Severus, it's Albus when we're in good company."

"Of course," Severus pause awkwardly, "Albus."

"Now, to business. What brings you here?"

"Mr. Draco Malfoy."

"Ahh. Yes, he would be a reason to call a meeting. Lime drop? I'd have lemon drops, but my doctor informs me that I have recently developed a terrible allergy."

Severus accepted the candy, glad that Dumbledore's tastes had finally changed for the better, and got to his point. "Draco is becoming a problem that could severely deter the other students from their studies." He dropped his Potions Master voice. "As well as create a possible obstruction to our plan for Mr. Potter, if his behavior gets any worse."

"Mmm," Dumbledore considered a lime drop before pushing the bowl aside distastefully. "That could be a problem. Would you care to elaborate?"

"For starters, his pranks on Potter have been getting more and more dangerous. At this rate, I fear they will become lethal."

Dumbledore just nodded, and Severus knew that his mind was at work, taking all of the information into account to use in his plying of people's roles in the war.

Severus could just see it, Dumbledore would allow Draco's antics to continue so that, at the expense of say, Harry's arm or leg, he might gain something so miniscule as a few more months of inconspicuousness from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

He continued on, slightly embittered. That bitterness towards the Headmaster's totalitarianism influenced Severus to choose to withhold his information on Malfoy's Occlumency practicing for his own future use, and he moved on to the next cause for concern. "Finally, I received this," Severus pulled the original copy of the letter that Lockheart had sent Malfoy (he had given Draco the copy), and handed it to the Headmaster, "Which is presumably from Professor Lockheart; Draco was snooping around there a week previously as described in the letter."

Dumbledore took the letter and scanned it carefully, one hand on his infamous half-moon spectacles. "I'll have to check that this is Lockheart's writing. We'll have another chat at another time then, eh? Though I'll admit; if this _is_ Lockheart, then we have cause for concern. There is background information on the professor that I have chosen to withhold. If need be, we'll take action on it."

Severus nodded, took another lime drop, and stood to leave. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster."

"Good to see you, Severus." Dumbledore gave a half wave over his shoulder as he continued to study the letter.

-

Severus, much to his dismay, found himself with nothing to do that Tuesday evening but snoop. This made him feel rather guilty about himself for the knowledge that the exposure of a man he despised only degraded himself to an obsequious slave to the chess-master Dumbledore.

He knocked on the door to Lockheart's office and called out, but the professor was not in. Pleased with the small victory of not having to lure the fool from his office while he reconnoitered, Severus strode happily into the desk space and started pushing papers around in his search for nothing in particular.

After he had purged the desk, Severus turned his attention to the rest of the room, and a spell training dummy in the corner caught his attention. The thing was obviously temporary; knickknacks had been pushed hastily aside to make room for it, and had been there a while without much damage coming to it; there was a layer of dust atop it.

Severus frowned at the peculiarities, and searched the desk again for notes on spell experiments. His satisfaction came when his fingers opened a manila envelope he had previously passed over as grades or a collection of essays.

As he opened it, his eyes first widened, and then his face paled at the full implications. They were records of steps taken in a spell development, an _illegal_ spell development. The Ministry had banned the process after You-Know-Who had started his reign of terror years ago. From what Severus could tell, it was a newly developed memory charm, which would explain the unmarked practice dummy. Lockheart had no doubt attached sensors to understand the effects of each spell he had tried on it.

Worse of all, after he had stared blankly at the list of tweaks and nuances, Severus noted a mistake; a dangerous mistake. One that Severus would need to stop.

-

Severus didn't waste time walking; he summoned one of the Slytherin Nimbus 2001s with a quick _accio_, and flew as best he could straight out Lockheart's office window, around half the school, and descended to the ground at the base of the fourth turret.

I'm very disappointed, my dear readers, to tell you that Severus was too late to disarm Lockheart before the memory charm was performed. Severus watched the white spell stem from the end of Lockheart's wand and envelop Draco's mind. He didn't register the wind rushing past his numb ears as he sped towards the ground, trying his best to stop Lockheart's escape.

"_Expelliarmus_," he heard himself shout as he jumped off the broom three feet above the ground, letting it fly rider-less to the ground below him, not registering the splinters as he landed and chased after Lockheart. "_Expelliarmus_, damn it!" But, as I have said, Severus was too late. His disarming spells fizzled out before they reached the back of the new refugee's form.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Once again, no beta-ing. Turtle _did_, however, help with the title. The working title, you ask? Spungen and Spinks. OO! Challenge time. _Without_ using any search engine (wikipedia included), who can tell me what Spungen and Spinks refer to? Whoever wins…will get to commission a one-shot! totally making this up on the fly Send me a message or review the story if you know!

**D**isclaimer: I don't own anything! All right?! Yea, I _do_, however, own the knowledge that it's _**all SPACE right**_. Love you all!

**C**hapter** T**hree

**F**loo** S**eason

Severus pushed through the door to his personal chambers, furious, and carefully draped an unconscious Draco Malfoy across the sole couch in the small apartment. He found a rather frazzled-looking phoenix patronus hopping nervously between his two kitchen chairs. He merely glared at it.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore normal nonchalant tone emanated from the phoenix's mouth, "It's rather urgent. As I suspect you have discovered, Lockheart—he is no longer a professor of mine—has something planned for Mr. Malfoy tonight. Come to my office immediately, and have the boy come too, if you can."

Severus scoffed at the bird, and turned angrily back to Draco's form. "Come to my office," the Headmaster said, like Severus would come running and leave Draco in who knows what kind of state. "Have the boy come," he said, like "the boy" would be able to skip happily at Severus's heels, eager to listen in to the grown-up's conversation.

Severus stared at the boy's face for a moment. His face was peaceful, not marred at all, but his robes were in shambles, and he smelled of firewhiskey. Severus resisted the urge to ponder the mystery of the origins, and set to carefully examining Draco's vitals.

After a minute of careful, oh so careful, examination, the phoenix began to pester Severus. It alighted on the back of the couch, and its formless beak proceeded to peck at Severus's face, obscuring his vision if anything.

Contact with the creature only caused a sensation of contacting nothing. One might describe it as numbness, but Severus wouldn't. To him, it was more the sensation you get when you can only see an object out of the corner of your eye, and not by looking directly at it. It was strange how easily Severus perceived meaningless things like these in such a crisis, but perhaps that was common to people in a state of trauma; it was the first time Severus had ever experienced it.

What the phoenix, and Dumbledore, did not understand was Severus's current state of mind. Severus had cared dearly for Narcissa Black, and they remained friends to this day. This tie had created a connection between Severus and Draco, and it was only the sight of the helpless boy before him that kept him from storming off on a broom to pay Lockheart back.

Despite his Occlumency and temper controlling disciplines, Severus cracked when the patronus began to interfere. Perhaps it was his feeling of helplessness as he realized that he could do nothing for Draco without the Headmaster's help, and perhaps it was pure hatred towards Lockheart, but whatever it was, it was at the phoenix's expense. Severus thrashed out at it, intending to wring its neck, but couldn't seem to get a grip, no matter how he tried. In the end he settled for throwing a pillow at it, and missing.

His head dropped to his hands, and, defeated, he rose to carry Draco to the Headmaster's office.

He entered the office numbly; most of his anger either purged from his system or locked away, and set Draco down on a chair. He watched in an out of body experience (the sort you get when you type with your head tilted sideways) as he mechanically reported all of his findings to Dumbledore.

"Lockheart developed a memory charm. I looked through his records of the process, they're in his office, and noticed a mistake he had made. I'm not sure of the full effect, but, seeing as Mr. Malfoy is still unconscious, it can't be good. I went to the fourth turret where they were to meet tonight, but I was too late. Lockheart escaped."

Dumbledore nodded, trying to be sympathetic, though Severus could tell that he really just wanted to know what this would mean for _him_ and his _carefully calculated plans_. "I will inform the Ministry of Lockheart's activities. You may retire to your rooms now, Severus. Thank you."

Severus shook his head, and offered to take Draco to Mungo's. Dumbledore, though reluctant to let the two out of his control, gave consent to the request, and offered up his Floo.

-

Draco woke in Mungo's, though he didn't know it. Draco really didn't know anything. He didn't know who or what he was. He didn't know what he was lying on. He didn't know what the figures in sea foam green sterile outfits, waving sticks over him, were. He didn't know what sea foam green was.

He heard a noise, whatever that is, emanate from one of the sea foam green figures, and decidedly closed his eyes to block out his confusing surroundings. Instead, he focused on his own existence. Soon, the basics came back to him.

He was Draco Abraxas Malfoy, born to Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy. He was a human being, a magical one at that, lying on a hospital operating table at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The figures were also witches and wizards, and sea foam green was a hideous color that consisted of 255 parts blue to 127 parts green, invented by the muggle company Crayola. The noise had been speech, British in particular.

And that, Draco faintly registered, was a large bottle of a foul enough smelling potion to knock him out again.

-

Draco emerged from his unconsciousness again, and only opened his eyes long enough to register that he was in a hospital bed before he closed them with exhaustion, resorting to his hearing. Four familiar voices and an unfamiliar one held a rather heated discussion somewhere off to Draco's left.

"It's nearly the end of the school year, Severus," That one was Draco's father; Draco remembered _him_ all right. "We need to get him out of here."

"Well, Nurse Conway here does not express this as a valid option." Draco recognized Severus's voice even quicker, and far fonder, though it wasn't as smooth or as mesmerizing as the first voice. It came from much closer; like he was sitting in a chair

"Even if he were to come conscious for more than a few minutes, we can assume he would hardly be able to remember enough about himself to function properly," the female voice sounded as though it were monotonously reading from a scripted sheet.

"Just how much would you expect him to remember?" The second female voice was far gentler than the first, and was oriented close to the voice of Draco's father. It must be Narcissa Malfoy. "Will my Draco remember me?"

"Probably, but we have no guaranties. Based on stimuli tests, he is expected to remember most things he has been exposed to his entire life. He is lucky to be a pureblood; he'll still have his magic."

Draco heard a sigh of relief, and was startled by a further outburst.

"Oh of _course_!" It was Severus's voice again, loud, clear and near. "Thank_ Merlin_ he still has his magic. I suppose we can deal with the loss of 90 of his memories, as long as he still has his _magic_. Oh, and Nurse Connway? He's still a pureblood, isn't he? Oh thank _Merlin_ for that too! I believe I would just _die_ if he were a mudblood squib."

"Mr. Snape, I'm going to ask that you step outside and calm down." Draco was dismayed as he realized the nurse was leading Severus to the hall. Defeated, he gave into fatigue and went unconscious once again as he heard the nurse's voice drift away. "Mr. Malfoy needs his peace."

-

"Son," Draco heard Lucius's voice over his head. "Oh come _on_. You have to wake up eventually...damn Lockheart and his coma-inducing memory charm."

"Honey, I'm sure this will all be okay." Draco tried to open his eyes and make his mother's words come true, but it wouldn't happen. "At least this way he's escaping _your_ choice of career."

Narcissa's last comment was not intended to be heard by anyone but her listening son, but there was no doubt that Lucius did not trust his wife. He had an immeasurable number of listening spells on her, and he struck her. She recoiled and glared back.

"If you say that again, Miss Black," he always referred to her as such when she upset him, "I will have to take you to him."

Every Death Eater has a different interpretation of the Dark Lord's intentions, just as every Christian has a different interpretation of the Bible, in a far more sadistic way. Lucius was an extremist. He did not follow Lord Voldemort; he _worshiped_ Lord Voldemort. Any slander against him was sacrilege and unforgivable.

Lucius took a stride further and raised his foot to kick his wife. Draco took this all in, and somehow found the energy to break through the fatigue to open his eyes, grunt "Father," and give a nasty glare.

Lucius stopped his foot midair and turned to look at Malfoy. He seemed frozen with shock for a moment, and finally it registered to him. He sat down, and Narcissa pulled herself off the floor and sat down on the side of his bed.

Seeing his mother was safe(-er), Draco let his head sink back into the pillow, and closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring his parents' questions and his father's shaking. When he opened his eyes, a wand was in his face.

He closed his eyes as terror struck through him from the familiar sight, but then he realized it was his own wand. His father was holding it out to him, handle first, expectantly.

"It's been four years, Draco," Lucius shook the wand, waiting for him to take it. "I need to know that you can still do magic. Take it!"

Draco slowly took it, but wasn't inclined to wave or incant. "Four years?"

"Yes, Draco," Narcissa patted his leg, "You're scheduled to start your sixth year at Hogwarts."

Interesting, huh? Well, message/review if you know the answer to the challenge. I'll close it whenever I feel like it.


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